


The Romance of a Murder

by Irollforinitiative



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Fluff, M/M, Teen AU, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irollforinitiative/pseuds/Irollforinitiative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg is a young copper who is on the case of a seeming suicide.  Mycroft ends up at the scene and takes a shining to the other young man.  Very fluffy.  Based around the case.  For the cupidmystrade valentines day exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Romance of a Murder

Greg sighed and leaned his head against the window of the tube car he was in.  He felt far older and more tired than a 23 year old should. But that's what happened when one joined the police force.  After a year of University he'd decided to drop out and join the force.  It had taken over a year to study for and take all the necessary exams and he was still in his two year probationary period, but it felt amazing to actually put on his uniform and go to work as a copper. Greg smiled, reminding himself, as he did daily, that this was his dream, and got up as the voice over the intercom announced the stop at New Scotland Yard.

 

With a smile on his face, Greg stepped into the soft roar of the Yard, heading for the lockers so he could change. He'd learned early on that riding the tube to work in your uniform just inspired undesired conversations.  He smiled as he buttoned up his uniform shirt and his good friend Michael Dimmock strode in and grinned at Greg as he too began to change. 

 

"Mornin' Greggie." Mike smiled and pulled his shirt off. 

 

"Mornin' Mike.  Good night last night?" Greg checked himself in the mirror, not caring too much about any wrinkles in his uniform, caring more about how his hair looked.

 

"The best.  You should have been there.  Cheryl left over two months ago.  We need to get you a warm woman to come home to at night." he grinned cheekily and pulled on his uniform.

 

Greg shook his head and laughed. "I'm sorry Mike but I just don't feel like it. Maybe next weekend.  Okay?"

 

"Okay.  But really, mate, it's just getting sad.  You're twenty three.  You need a date."

 

Greg shook his head and was formulating his response when their Sergeant walked in.

 

"Lestrade, Dimmock, we've got a case.  Come on boys. And wipe that shit-eating grin off your face Dimmock." he grumbled and stormed off. 

 

"It seems the Sergeant hasn't had his coffee yet." Mike rolled his eyes and clipped on his badge before heading off, Greg trailing behind him.  After a short drive and some waiting around for the forensics teams to clear out Greg was finally allowed onto the crime scene. It was a suicide. Some young Uni student took a dive off of the top of an office building and fell onto the pavement, right in front of some kid.  The kid in question was currently sitting on the hood of one of the panda cars, sniffing and wiping at tears on his cheeks. He couldn't be a day older than eleven and between his pale skin and pitch black curls he looked like he'd walked out of a fairy tale. 

 

"Please mister, can I just go home?" the little boy sniffed again. 

 

Greg walked over to him and shooed away the rather panicked looking forensics grunt who seemed to not know the first thing about talking to anyone about anything but blood stains. 

 

"Hi, I'm Greg." Greg smiled and offered his hand. 

 

The boy took his hand and sniffed again. "I'm Sherlock.  Please can I go?"

 

Greg sighed and pulled the orange emergency blanket tighter around Sherlock. "I want to let you go home, I really do.  But I have to talk to you a little before you can go."

 

"I don't know what in the world you'd want to talk about.  I was just walking." Sherlock started crying again. 

 

Greg sighed and waved one of the PCs that had been the first to the scene.  "Is there a reason we have to keep this kid here?"

 

The PC sighed and crossed his arms. "Yes.  That little brat was poking the body when we got here and spent the first five minutes trying to get back to it and shouting about it being a murder and us all being idiots.  We need to get permission to release him after stunts like that."

 

Greg turned back to the little boy who was suddenly not crying and instead was glaring at the PC.  "You little twat."

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "If you hadn't felt the consuming need for approval I would be on my way home now instead of watching a bunch of grown men and women tripping over themselves as they try and bumble their way through a spectacularly simple case."

 

Greg's jaw dropped for a moment before he seemed to process the sudden shift in the boy. "I'm sorry.  If it's so simple then why don't you go ahead and tell me what happened."

 

Sherlock sighed but before he could answer a young man, not much younger than Greg, walked past the police line and directly over to Sherlock. He was dressed far too nice for anyone his age but he moved and stood like someone who lived in a three piece suit.  Upon seeing him Sherlock looked down at his shoes, all hope of a response. 

 

Greg sighed. "What the hell do you think you're doing? This is a crime scene."

 

The auburn haired young man fixed Greg with a piercing stare that positively dripped with loathing. "I'm collecting my baby brother from the ham-handed grip of the Metropolitan Police."

 

"Well I hate to disappoint, but your brother contaminated a crime scene and then announced that a suicide was in fact a murder.  So unless you can explain all that in less than five minutes, we need to question him." Greg raised an eyebrow, feeling a bit chuffed at getting to use his limited power.

 

The corner of Sherlock's older brother's mouth quirked up for just a split second before he took a slow breath and sighed. "While I understand your desire to enter into and win this seeming pissing contest, as an understudy to one member of Parliament and one member of a small traffic office, I can promise you that I will win.  In fact, I will have your job if I so desire it. Ergo, I highly recommend you take this official pardon of anything you deem Sherlock has done wrong," he handed Greg an official looking envelope, "and allow us to leave." He didn't wait for Greg to respond, but instead gripped Sherlock's shoulder and began to lead him away.

 

"You didn't have to save me." Sherlock grumbled.

 

Greg stared at the letter. "Hold on, what's your name?" he shouted  "For official purposes."

 

"Mycroft Holmes." Mycroft didn't turn around as he answered Greg, dragging his brother away.

 

With a shake of his head, Greg turned around to examine the scene before him.  He handed off the letter to the PC he'd spoken to before and frowned as he walked closer to the body.  He'd fallen head first.  When people commit suicide they always fell feet first of flat on their chest. It went against reflexes to fall head first. Frowning, he wandered closer to the body and looked at the shattered skull. Greg leaned even closer, face only a few inches from the body.

 

"Lestrade! What are you doing? You need to come fill out this paperwork so we can haul this poor bloke off." The Sergeant shouted. 

 

Greg stood up and turned to him. "Sorry sir, I just…there are two impact sites on his skull."

 

"So? Probably fell on a rock or something. It's a suicide.  Let's just get this done." The Sergeant sighed and crossed his arms.

 

Greg rubbed the back of his neck. "Sir I think he might have been murdered."

 

Mike walked over and rolled his eyes. "Greggie, turning a simple suicide into a murder isn't going to make the two year probation any shorter.  Just give it up."

 

Greg nodded and went about doing as he was told.  As they packed up to leave, Greg pulled the Sergeant aside. "Sir, please can I just stick around and poke about? I can even change out of uniform if you'd rather.  Something just feels wrong."

 

The Sergeant shook his head. "Whatever, Lestrade. You're not even a proper PC yet and hardly qualified to investigate in street clothes.  Look about, do what you want.  Just don't get in trouble and try and not get shot.  If you find anything real, call me."

 

Greg smiled and nodded, hanging back as everyone else drove away. He was one of the best probationary PCs on the force at the moment, so he was generally allowed extra responsibility when he wanted it.  But this was the first time he'd been allowed to investigate anything on his own.  Even if it was a hopeless investigation based on the ramblings of a child. 

 

After an hour or so of walking around the street and looking in all the nooks and crannies he realized something important: there were no rocks. If the victim had two head wounds then one either had to be pre or post-mortem.  Considering the only witness was eleven and hardly strong enough to fracture a grown man's skull, it had to have happened before he died. With that in mind, Greg climbed the seven flights of stairs to the top of the building to poke about.

 

After an hour of wandering the roof where the victim had jumped from or been pushed, Greg was starting to feel defeated.  He sat on the ledge around the edge of the roof and put his head in his hands.  _What are you doing, Greg. You're wasting your time on something a kid said.  A monster of a kid, at that._ Greg's thoughts were broken by the voice of Mycroft Holmes.

 

"You really ought to check the other side of the roof as this one is far too visible for anyone to conceivably commit murder without being seen."

 

Greg looked up with a start. "What are you doing here?"

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and straightened his already straight tie. "I wanted to see how intelligent you are and don't yet have the means to watch without being present."

 

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Yeah…that doesn't make you a suspect for this alleged murder."

 

Mycroft sighed, seeming to be exhausted by Greg. "Yes, because a murderer would point you to the proof of murder." he pointed to the other side of the roof. 

 

Greg frowned and got up, walking to where Mycroft had pointed.  There was a small splatter of dark brown. "Dried blood. Oh my God." He pulled out his phone and dialed. "Sir, it's Lestrade.  There's dried blood on the roof…yes...yeah…fine sir, I'll find one."

 

Mycroft waited patiently for the call to end. "It pleases me that you don't consider me to be a proper suspect."

 

"I suppose I really shouldn't be surprised that you guessed the other half of that conversation." Greg shook his head and headed back down the stairs of the building. 

 

Mycroft followed, a small smile on his face. "No, it really shouldn't.  I suppose I should bid you adieu since you're going to head back to the Yard to look at the victim's background and acquaintances."

 

Greg grit his teeth. "Yeah…and I bet you can guess what I'm going to say next." he crossed his arms and rounded on Mycroft as they reached the street.

 

"Come now PC Lestrade, you're in a position of power and really shouldn't use language like that." Mycroft smiled a little.

 

Greg's face fell. "I'm not a proper PC yet. I'm still in the probationary period."

 

"Oh?" A look of genuine surprise crossed Mycroft's face. "Oh I didn't…that's a surprise."

 

Greg shrugged. "Glad I could be of use." he headed down the street towards the tube station.  It would be awkward to ride in full uniform, but no one left a car for him.

 

"Dinner?" Mycroft said as Greg started to walk off.

 

Greg stopped and turned back around.  "I'm sorry?"

 

"Dinner, would you like to have dinner with me?"

 

Greg's eyebrows rose. "Actually…that…that sounds lovely. Can we make it tomorrow?"

 

Mycroft's eyebrow rose. "That's valentine's day."

 

"Yeah it is.  But you seem dead set on making yourself a part of my life so I don't think a first date on the 14th is too out of order." Greg chuckled.

 

Mycroft nodded and smiled slightly. "Good. I will pick you up at half seven if I don't see you before then."

 

Greg was starting to formulate a response when a sleek black car pulled up and Mycroft slipped in before it sped away.  

 

Greg shook his head and made his way back to the Yard. Once there he dove headfirst into the files on the victim, Joseph Randall.  Somehow the hours slipped by until Greg was one of the only people left at the office as he poured over Randall's history for a fifth time. 

 

"Look at his medical history."

 

Greg looked up and frowned.  Mycroft was standing in the doorway of the pit offices.  "What?"

 

"His medical history.  Look at it."

 

"What the hell are you doing here? You know what…no this isn't even surprising anymore

." Greg sighed and shuffled to that file. "Umm…just a broken arm about two months ago."

 

"Yes," Mycroft walked over to sit on the edge of the desk Greg and Mike shared, "but how did he receive it?"

 

Greg frowned and looked again. "It doesn't say.  His flatmate brought him in and it the official statement was that he fell down stairs."

 

Mycroft sighed. "He lives on the ground level."

 

Greg's eyes shot up. "Oh? Oh…his flatmate pushed him? Why?"

 

Mycroft stared at him for a long moment before pulling a stack of paper out of his case. "Here. This explains everything."

 

As Mycroft walked away Greg began to go through the stack. Cell phone calls, unpaid bills, nasty emails, and a transcript from a voicemail left on the victim's phone.  It seemed that Randall and his flatmate Steve Harris were fighting.  Randall had hit a difficult semester and was having to work less in order to get his class work done.  Because of this he was struggling to pay bills and rent.  Harris got progressively angrier until that morning when he'd left a voicemail for Randall.  According to the transcript he'd said _I don't fucking care if I have to kill you to get the money for rent.  I need that money and I need it yesterday or else we'll both get evicted._

 

Along with all this was the bank records and credit card history of Harris.  He'd withdrawn all his money and was staying in a hotel just outside of town.  Greg gaped at it all.  This was days and weeks worth of work.  It was everything they needed for a conviction and it was in his hands.  Mycroft had literally handed him a solved case. After calling few agencies and looking up a few records to verify that this information was all entirely true and legitimate, Greg called his supervisor.

 

"Sergeant I think you need to get down here.  Randall was murdered and I've got proof.  A lot of proof." Greg couldn't help but sound a little surprised as he said it.

 

The next morning found Greg sitting at his desk, still in a stunned silence.  Mike came up and slapped him on the back.

 

"What's this I hear about Greggie solving a murder in one day?" Mike laughed.

 

Greg smiled a little and looked up at him. "I...yeah.  I proved that Randall didn't jump but that he was pushed." Greg frowned and shook his head. "Mike can I talk to you? Alone?"

 

Mike mimicked Greg's frown and nodded. "Yeah. Let's go grab coffee."

 

The two men went to the noisy coffee house across the street and stood in a corner, sipping their beverages, while Greg told Mike the entire story.  Everything from Sherlock, to Mycroft asking him to dinner, to the papers.

 

"I just…I don't know what to make of it. If I knew this guy that'd be something, but this is just some kid I met yesterday and he's treating me like something special." Greg sighed and shook his head.

 

Mike chuckled. "Greg, I tease like nobody's business, but you're my best mate.  And I can definitively say that you are special.  And maybe this Mycroft bloke just sees that."

 

Greg was about to start grumbling and groaning again when his phone went off.  He pulled it out and looked at it. It was an unknown number

 

_I treated you special because you are special.  It takes a large amount of intelligence and genuine goodness of heart to make me ask someone to dinner. Speaking of which I'll see you tonight. -Mycroft Holmes_

Greg blushed deeply as Mike read over his shoulder.

 

"Greggie's got a boyfriend.  A rich and powerful boyfriend." Mike sang as Greg pulled his phone out of Mike's line of sight and responded.

 

_Stop spying on me.-G_

 

With a small smile he sent a second text.

_I'll see you tonight. -G_


End file.
